Robbie looked away, then back again, eyes shining. “I don’t get it.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “You don’t have to get it. No one ever did. When people hurtme, I couldn’t cry—I set things on fire. I stopped feeling pain and started watching the world burn, and it was the only thing that made sense.”
Robbie stared at me for a long moment, then reached for my hand and gripped it tightly.
“I wish I were that brave,” he murmured.
“Robbie, you escaped,” I said, voice hoarse with conviction. “You lived through it all, and you got away. You’re the bravest person I know.”
He blinked, surprised, then a small, genuine smile tugged at his mouth. “Maybe we’re both brave then.”
Enzo padded into the kitchen, barefoot and bleary-eyed as the oven timer dinged. Without a word, he crossed to the stove, flicked the timer off, and crouched in front of Robbie.
“Come back to bed, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep but so damn gentle it broke something in me. Robbie let himself be gathered up, arms winding around Enzo’s neck, face buried there as if he could hide from the world.
“I’ve got this,” Enzo said over his shoulder, his eyes meeting mine with quiet reassurance. Robbie clung tighter, and Enzo kissed the top of his head. “Nightmares,” he mouthed to me.
I nodded. What else was there to say?
“I’ll pack the cookies away when they’re cool,” I offered, moving toward the oven.
“Don’t you dare eat them all, Jamie Maddox,” Robbie whispered, his voice watery.
Enzo chuckled as they climbed the stairs. “He won’t if he knows what’s good for him.”
“I’m promising nothing!” I shouted after them as the scent of warm cookies filled the air, all sweetness and the opposite of the sparks vibrating under my skin. I should’ve said something more to help Robbie,but instead, I stared at the tray of cookies as if they might give me answers, my heart thudding in a rhythm that had nothing to do with sweetness or comfort. I didn’t feel hunger.
I felt fire. I wanted to find the men who hurt him, and I wanted to burn them to ash.
The day didn’t getany easier. Logan was back in the office, and he and Enzo had been shut away in there since lunchtime, the door closed, the low hum of conversation just loud enough to piss me off. It felt deliberate—like they were making plans without us, deciding what came next and whether we were part of it.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Robbie asked me again, for the third time since the door had clicked shut. His voice was too casual to be casual. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, and his eyes were fixed on the closed door as if he could will it open.
I shrugged, jaw tight. “Dunno. Logistics? Cars? More waiting while they decide what crumbs we’re allowed to know. Probably.”
He didn’t respond, but he nodded as if he understood.
“Cool. Because being kept in the dark is great for my mental health,” I muttered, too low for him to answer. The sarcasm didn’t help, but it was all I had. He was uneasy, and I hated that too—that he was scared and unsure and not being told what was going on.
And I hated that I didn’t know either. I should’ve been in there. I wanted to kick the door in, demand answers, demand to be useful. Instead, I sat here, chewing on the inside of my cheek, the fire curling tighter in my gut with every minute we were kept out.
I buried myself in work, trying to quieten the rage clawing at the back of my throat. A busted alternator gave me an excuse to get my hands dirty, and I leaned into it—grease up to my elbows, the sharp sting of coolant in my nostrils, the clang of tools grounding me. I tightened bolts that didn’t need tightening. Checked wiring twice. I was doing something with heat—had the soldering iron in hand—mumbling to myself, “Just fix it. Just keep your hands busy and your head quiet.”—repairing a cracked terminal, and without thinking, I held my finger close to the iron. Close enough to feel the heat bite—just short of burning, but sharp against me.
I stayed like that a beat too long, mesmerized, the heat dancing under my skin. It made the noise in myhead settle, the chaos draw back, soothed by the promise of pain I could control.
“Jamie?” Robbie’s voice cut through the fog.
I jerked my hand back, blinking. He stood there with wide eyes and that uncertain frown that always made me feel like a villain in someone else’s story.
“It’s nothing,” I muttered, wiping my hands on a rag. “Just lost in thought.”
I left the second I could, as soon as the workday was finished, with Enzo and Logan still talking.
I fucking hated waiting.
As soon as I was back home, I pulled up my research—not the new information tied to Lassiter and Kessler, but my old list—the unresolved cases, the ones where the bad guys had gotten away with hurting people like me and Robbie. Names that had once kept me up at night were now bookmarks in a file I kept hidden.
I started clearing them out, pruning the ones who’d fallen off the radar, and highlighting those still circling too close to the edges of our lives—the ones who might bring danger to Redcars, to my people.
